Chapter 15
As we stepped outside, the sunlight hit us full in the face. It was almost cheerful, which was deeply unsettling. Somewhere beyond the trees, birds chirped, light and oblivious. The normalcy made my skin crawl.
The bodies were still there, lying on the porch. Jake slowed when he saw them. His face tightened, lips pressing into a thin line. For a second, I thought I saw something else flicker there.
Ricky murmured, “Jesus,” under his breath.
I couldn’t understand how either of them were still clinging to doubt. Three people were dead, and we’d only been here for twenty-four hours. Maybe they didn’t want to believe it. Or maybe belief wasn’t the issue at all. Disbelief was just easier to live with.
We moved toward Bill’s truck and came around the front.
Up close, there was no mistaking it. The axe was buried deep in Bill’s chest, the handle angled slightly upward, as if someone had put their full weight behind the swing and then let go.
Blood had soaked through his jacket and frozen dark against the snow beneath him, a spreading stain locked in place by the cold.
His face was slack, eyes open, staring at nothing.
“Looks like murder to me,” Ricky said, his voice tight.
Jake didn’t speak right away. He crouched instead, studying the ground, the angle of the axe, the way Bill’s body had fallen. He was too calm and too focused.
“It’s possible,” he said finally, “that he fell onto it.”
Ricky stared at him. “Fell onto an axe?”
Jake stood and slid his hands into his pockets. “If he was holding it, tripped, lost his footing, fell forward with his full weight. The axe turns as he tries to brace himself. While in shock, he rolls onto his back.” He gestured at Bill. “And dies like this.”
“Seriously?” Ricky asked.
“It’s a possibility.” Jake shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“No,” I said. My voice was steadier now, anger replacing fear. “No. You’re not just saying. You’re doing what you’ve been doing all weekend.”
Jake straightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means every time something awful happens, you’re the first one to explain it away. An accident. A misunderstanding. A suicide.” My throat tightened, but I didn’t stop. “Maddie wandered off. Noah killed himself. Bill slipped.”
Jake rubbed his temple again, harder this time. The gesture had become compulsive. “I just don’t want us panicking and making rash, uninformed decisions.”
“That’s funny,” I said. “Because every bad decision we’ve made so far started with you telling us to calm down.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re reaching, Blair.”
The way he said my name made me want to claw his eyes out, but I resisted every violent urge I had.
“Am I, Jake? Because I’m starting to notice a pattern.”
“That sounds like an accusation.”
“Maybe it is.”
“Uh—guys?” Ricky said. He was crouched near the front of the truck. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d stepped away.
I followed his gaze. The front tire was shredded. It wasn’t blown or worn. Long, deliberate slashes were carved clean through the rubber.
“Jesus,” Ricky muttered. “All of them.”
We moved around the truck in silence. Every tire was ruined.
Jake stared at the damage, his expression unreadable. “Maybe someone—”
“Just stop, man!” Ricky snapped.
We’d both had enough of Jake’s interpretations of what was really happening to us.
We turned toward the SUV, dread settling in. Before we reached it, I already knew. My body knew. Same thing as the truck. All four tires slashed beyond saving. Matching clean, vicious cuts through each one of them.
“They didn’t just kill Bill,” I said, the words slow and heavy as they formed. “They made sure we couldn’t leave.”